


wishing she were here

by emilyhotchner



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, S6E20, basically just that convo where derek asks hotch how he's feeling about emily being gone, except not really, hanley waters, kind of?, post episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:20:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28897266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilyhotchner/pseuds/emilyhotchner
Summary: He could feel the hole she’d left in their lives, in his life. Felt the grief rippling off all of them. He couldn’t lie, because the pain that he felt was devastatingly real. So he didn’t.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Emily Prentiss, but also can be read easily read as a friendship, if you squint
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	wishing she were here

**Author's Note:**

> hello! i've never put anything up on here before, but wanted to share something i wrote recently. it's basically just a character analysis of how hotch is feeling and grieving emily's (non)death. set at the end of hanley waters when he's talking to derek.
> 
> hope you enjoy, feedback would be greatly appreciated since i'm a first timer :)

“You know, we um - we come in here and we talk to you. Where do you go? Where are you in all of this?”

He looked down, studying his hands. He didn’t want to lie, was the thing. But somehow, he got the feeling that he and Derek weren’t having entirely different experiences - the anger he saw in him, the frustration and grief; it was a reflection of what Hotch had been battling ever since he’d left her side.

* * *

_It had started with fear. Pure, unadulterated, gut wrenching fear, triggered the second he heard the shouts for a medic. He stumbled into the room minutes later, saw paramedics pulling Emily onto a stretcher whilst Morgan remained hunched on the floor, blood staining his hands._

_“Hotch she - she’s barely responding”_

_He saw the anguish in his agent’s eyes, and knew he had to put his own fear aside. Knew that he had to think clearly, rationally, because if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to keep it together enough to handle the next few hours._

_“Morgan, listen to me.” He watched as Derek’s eyes followed Emily as she got pulled away, watched as his eyes flickered over to the ambulance they were about to load her into. “I need you to go and get everyone, and get to the hospital._

_“Hotch I -”_

_“Now, Derek,” he says, already making his way to the ambulance. “She’s going to be fine.”_

_The sinking feeling in his gut told him otherwise._

* * *

_Later that night, as he sat at her bedside, head reeling with the plan he and JJ had conjured up in a matter of hours, the fear started to dissipate and turn into anger. Anger that she was here, anger that Doyle had gotten away, anger that she hadn’t told them, told_ him _about any of it. He knew, logically, that she’d done everything she had to protect them, but somehow that didn’t make any of it any easier. If one of them had just noticed, had just made the connections and connected the dots that little bit earlier, then he may not have been sat there waiting for her to wake up, waiting to tell her that for all intents and purposes, Emily Prentiss was dead._

_She understood, though, as he knew she would. Didn’t bat an eye, really, as he told her what needed to happen, the future waiting for her outside the doors of the private hospital room she was being kept in. Her hands remained wrapped in his, and the slight tremor was the only thing betraying the controlled expression that had slipped over her face._

_“I’m sorry, Emily. I just - this is the only way I can keep you safe.”_

_“I know.”_

* * *

He had watched her leave that hospital room, his heart in his throat as he realised he didn’t know when he would see her again (yes, when, not if, because if he started thinking about the possibility they might not catch Doyle, might not get her back, then the fear he was trying so hard to stamp down would come rolling back in debilitating waves).

So no, he couldn’t lie. One day, when she returned, he knew he and JJ would have a lot to answer for, but he would never apologise. Would do it all again in a heartbeat, honestly, because the team’s anger would be a small price to pay for her safety. But he couldn’t betray their trust, couldn’t sit there and speak of her death as if the pain he was feeling was anywhere near what the rest of his team, his family, were going through.

He would be honest, because he was grieving in his own way. He had the comforting knowledge she was still alive (if you could call it that, but he would argue there was nothing comforting in knowing she was an ocean away with nothing but fake identities to keep her safe) but he still mourned her loss.

Mourned her loss when he came into work in the mornings, and had to put back the second mug he grabbed out of habit as he stood next to the coffee machine. (A Christmas present Garcia had bought her, a picture of the whole team printed on the front. A recent picture, he thinks, from her birthday last year. An easier time.)

Mourned her loss when he’d glance down through his blinds at her empty desk, once scattered with files. Now gathering dust. (They didn’t have the heart to let anyone else use it just yet.)

Mourned her loss when he went to partner people up for a case and realised he’d overlooked the fact that they were one agent down. Backtracked quickly and reassigned responsibilities, making sure Seaver had someone to accompany her to speak to the victim’s family. Felt his heart sink as he realised she would normally do that with Emily. (He ignored the slight flinch that crossed her face, but made a mental note to check up on her that evening.)

Mourned her loss every time he looked at Spencer, whose eyes had a permanent red rim around them, mourning a sister. At Penelope, whose usual high spirits had turned into resignation, the reminder that they weren’t invincible showing in the frown lines which now permanently etched her face. At Dave, who put on a brave front but privately mourned the death of one of his closest friends and confidants. At JJ, who would turn up at his apartment with a tight smile and a bottle of whiskey, but could never bring herself to talk about what had happened. About what they knew.

At Derek, who sat in front of him with glistening eyes and anger in the set of his jaw, blaming himself for the death of a friend. Of a partner.

_Where are you with all of this?_

He could feel the hole she’d left in their lives, in his life. Felt the grief rippling off all of them. He couldn’t lie, because the pain that he felt was devastatingly real. So he didn’t.

“Same place as you. Wishing she was here.”


End file.
